Drake bent his knees and squatted down. He was leaning against the brick wall that was around the door that led back inside. The young man was crying and shaking with terror. He knew that they were just trying to instill fear in him, but what if Rashaad wouldn't have caught him at that last millisecond? He could've been dead. He couldn't stop playing it over and over in his head like some sort of bad dream. His heart was beating out of his chest as if he were still hanging from the side of the building.

Drake noticed that the two men were walking towards him. Slowly, he stood up and pushed himself against the wall further, praying that they were done with him. It was obvious how scared he was. His bottom lip quivered no matter how hard he tried to stiffen it. He sniffled.

"You're done for the night," Marcellas said. "Go home, Drake. And don't bother showing up tomorrow. I'll figure out how we're gonna continue from here. We'll be in touch." He led Rashaad inside, and the door closed behind them.

When they were gone, Drake let go of a sob. His face contorted. He didn't leave, though. He was too embarrassed to walk through that crowd of people crying like he was. He wanted to calm himself down. He wiped his eyes and sniffled again.

I've gotta get out of this. I've gotta pay him off. Drake tried to formulate a solid idea on how he could earn a lot of money in a short amount of time. His mind was still racing, so his ideas weren't too helpful. He could go home and beg his mother for the money, but did they even have an extra eight grand laying around? Who fucking did? There's Molly. She had let him borrow a couple hundred, but Jesus, this was so much more than that. It was already embarrassing that he'd even asked in the first place. What about Coach Tad? How many handjobs would it take to get the amount he needed? How much would he pay if Drake were to let him fuck him? Oh, God, I don't want to. The thought made him feel disgusted and hopeless, and more tears left his eyes. What am I gonna do?

Drake didn't want to stay up here on this roof all night for fear that they would come back, and he couldn't see himself ceasing his tears anytime soon, so he moved over to the door. It didn't budge. He gave it another hard tug, and still it didn't open. The young man banged his fist as hard as he could, but he knew that this door was too far away from anyone, and on top of that, the loud music would definitely drown out his knocks. He gave up, then looked around the roof. Off to the side, he saw a ladder. He moved towards it, then carefully positioned himself on it and started climbing down.

Drake closed his eyes tighter than they already had been when he felt a constant pounding on his head. Oh, God, the headache was back. As it continued, getting more and more painful by the second, it started to wake him from his deep slumber. Suddenly, a slap to the face opened his eyes, and he realized that the aching in his head had really been his father trying to shake him and pat his cheek to wake him.

"What the fuck?" Drake groaned grumpily as he clutched his stinging cheek.

"You've been out for three days. I was just checking on you."

"I'm fucking sick." Drake turned over to face the wall so that he couldn't see his dad. Out of sight, out of mind. He rested his head on his pillow again and closed his eyes. "Leave me alone."

And for a moment, Drake was left in peace, but only for a moment. The young man found himself being lifted up by his hair, and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor.

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to like that?!" Martin demanded.

Drake tiredly held his hand up as a way of surrendering and blocking himself from a punch at the same time. "Please, just let me sleep," he begged tiredly. "I just wanna sleep."

He was always tired, and having pneumonia didn't help. All he wanted to do was fall asleep and never wake up. Everyday was always the same soul-crushing repetition. Everyday, he was pushed around and treated like dirt, if not by his father, then by Marcellas' crew or the gym coach it seemed that he could never escape from or even himself. He had so many negative thoughts about himself that he was just tired. Everyday, he had to pick himself up out of the floor, dust himself off, and then carry on just to await the next time life would shove him down. He was always taking a beating, whether physically or metaphorically. He was always scared, always drained, always depressed, always digging himself in deeper, and honestly, he just wanted to die.

*FLASHBACK*

Drake's eyes slowly opened and he was surrounded by a bright white color. His vision was blurred, so he couldn't tell what his surroundings were. In the distance, he heard a steady beep. He blinked his eyes, but still, his vision didn't recover. He tried to call out for help, but only a quiet whimper left his lips, for all he could feel was a sharp pain in his stomach.

"Drake?"

The voices swam around in his brain, and it was then that he realized just how much his head was aching. He let out another whimper.

"Oh my God. Josh, get a doctor!" Audrey stood from the chair that she'd placed right next to her son's bed and she rested her hand on Drake's shoulder. "It's okay. Mommy's here. You're okay." She softly stroked his cheek.

Drake was confused, all he could feel was pain, and he couldn't see. All of this combined caused tears to build up in his eyes.

"It's okay, sweetie. It's okay. It's okay." Despite her words, she sounded as though she was crying as well.

"Drake, it's your father. Can you hear me?"

His parents noticed that his heart rate machine started beeping faster at his words. Drake hated that he couldn't see the man, and therefore, couldn't prepare for an attack. He lifted his hand as a lousy attempt and another noise left his lips.

Audrey gripped his hand and placed it on her own cheek. "You're gonna be okay. Just stay calm."

However, Drake tried to sit up, and he yanked his arm away from his mother, causing the IV to rip out of his skin. He let go of a scream.

"Where is Josh with that damn doctor?" Martin pushed Drake's back onto the mattress and tried to hold him still.

Just then, Josh jogged back inside with a doctor and nurse following right behind him. The professional saw as Drake snatched the white circles that were attached to his chest and tossed them to the side.

"We're gonna have to restrain him," the doctor said.

Audrey and Martin moved out of the way as the man gripped Drake's left hand and placed it in the restraints. He then reached over the boy and did the same with his other hand. The nurse had secured his feet.

"Mr. Parker, my name is Dr. Mydo. Do you know where you are?"

As Drake fought against his restraints, his eyelid was forced open wider, and a light suddenly clicked on and blinded him even more.

"Can you tell me what your name is?" He shined the light into the other eye. After giving him time to answer that question and receiving no reply, he asked, "How many fingers am I holding up?" He lifted three fingers.

Finally, Drake managed to get something out of his mouth that wasn't a whimper. "Mom..."

"Your mother's right here." The doctor waved her over, and she quickly obeyed.

"Drake, it's okay." She placed one hand on his cheek, then clutched his hand with her free one, holding it against her heart. "Just calm down. You're okay now. You're in the hospital, but you're gonna be just fine."

Finally, Drake's vision started to clear up. He blinked to quicken the process. After a moment, although it was still slightly blurry, he could see the outline of Audrey in front of him. "Mom..." he said again, calmer this time.

"The nice doctor is gonna check on you, okay? He's gonna make you all better so that we can take you back home."

The doctor went over to the other side of Drake because he saw that Audrey was a big help in keeping the boy calm. He reintroduced himself. "Mr. Parker, my name is Dr. Mydo. How are you feeling?"

"My stomach hurts." His voice cracked, for his throat was dry.

"That's completely normal. It'll go away in a little while. Do you remember why you're here?"

It hadn't occurred to him until this question was asked, but he did remember. "Yeah."

"Can you tell me?"

"I tried to kill myself," he whispered.

Audrey sniffled, then squeezed his hand tighter.

"You've been in a coma for three days," Dr. Mydo informed. "But it looks to me like you're recovering. You're gonna be just fine."

Drake couldn't even begin to describe the sinking feeling in his gut. He had failed, and although his brain was so preoccupied on other things, he knew the sadness would be back in no time. All he wanted was to escape.

"You hear that, sweetie?" Audrey's thumb gently brushed at his cheek. "Everything's gonna be okay."

*END FLASHBACK*

"You wanna sleep?" Martin said, angry at the way his son had dared to speak to him. He wound his fist back and slugged Drake as hard as he could against the boy's skull, which knocked him unconscious. "You got it."

Drake hissed as he clutched his temple. He groaned, then pushed himself out of the floor, stumbling slightly with dizziness and exhaustion. The young man looked in the mirror and saw a trail of dried blood traveling down the side of his face. There was also a large, black bruise right next to his left eye. The wound was swollen, which didn't allow Drake to open his eye fully.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head aching.

He moved over to his nightstand and pulled open the top drawer. It was filled with some of Megan's stuff: an extra phone charger, earbuds, a couple Tiger Beat magazines. Drake rummaged around and found a bottle of Tylenol. He'd seen it in here before, and he tried to refrain from using it unless it was an emergency. If Megan noticed that some was missing, she might suspect that Drake was staying here when she wasn't. The young man twisted off the cap, then poured a couple onto his palm. After seeing how many was still inside and knowing that she'd never notice that any were missing, he poured two more, then he put the cap back on and stood, making his way to the kitchen. Drake opened the refrigerator, and looked around. The only liquid in sight was beer. Of course. He didn't mind, though. He pulled one out and popped the tab. He tossed the four pills into his mouth, then chased them down with Bud Light.

Drake chugged the entire can, then reached into the fridge and grabbed another. He tossed the empty one into the trash can on his way to the living room. The young man sat down on the couch. He hung his head tiredly and rubbed at his uninjured temple in hopes that his migraine would stop soon. He was only half-listening to the local news that was playing on the television. It was always the same anyways. The world was a bad place filled with bad people. Everyone was dying. Everyone was fighting. Everyone was stealing. The world needed a change, but Drake wasn't one to change the world. All he wanted was to sit around and get high. Maybe he was a bad person, too.

Suddenly, Martin plopped down next to him without a word. He leaned back, then lifted his feet and rested them onto the coffee table (which he'd recently found on the side of the road after Drake had fallen on top of the other one and broken it). Drake stood with the intent to change rooms. He felt too shitty to face the possibility of conflict head-on today.

"What? You can't spend time with your old man?"

"I'm just tired."

"Come on. Sit down." Martin patted the spot where his son had been sitting just seconds ago.

Drake silently sighed and obeyed because his father wasn't asking.

"I see you've helped yourself to my beer."

The young man opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't know how to respond.

"Relax. I'll let it slide this time. Just make sure you ask from now on."

Drake had squished himself up against the left arm of the couch. He wanted to be as far away from the man as possible in case he were to suddenly lash out. His discomfort was clear to Martin, for the young man was sitting so close to the edge that he was hardly on the couch at all.

"So how are you feeling?" Martin asked.

"Fine." Drake didn't turn to look at his father, but he wasn't really looking at the television either.

"Is the medicine helping?"

"A little." He kept his answers short.

"Have you been getting high while they have you on this medication?"

"Not yet."

"You know, maybe it's not a good idea."

"Do you care?" Drake dared, focusing on keeping himself from rolling his eyes.

"I mean, I have saved your life more than once. That should count for something."

"But every time, you were the reason my life was in danger in the first place, no?" This time, Drake met his eyes.

"Well, excuse me for trying to have a nice conversation with my son."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Drake said sarcastically. "Was that not you that just punched me until I lost consciousness less than twenty minutes ago?"

"Fuck you, you little twerp."

Drake was tired, and because of this, he was having trouble keeping his mouth shut. "Fuck you," he said back.

"You have grown some balls, huh? Let's not forget about the time you got off thinking about me fucking your mother." He would always bring this up to show dominance.

"Piss off."

Drake stood and started to leave, but he didn't even take a single step before Martin grabbed him and shoved him onto the couch again. The man crawled on top of him, then reached down and easily gripped Drake's balls through the sweatpants he'd let the boy borrow days ago.

"Ahh!"

"Funny, they don't feel any bigger."

Drake squeezed his eyes closed at the pain. He tried shoving him away, but he wasn't strong enough.

"You must be all mouth, huh?"

"Fuck," Drake groaned. "Get off!"

"Not until you apologize."

"Fuck off." The young man yelled out when the man dug his fingertips deeper. "Gaahh! Let go!" And again, his precious private area was gripped tighter. "Aahhhhhh!"

"Say it," Martin urged.

It was more than obeying. If Drake were to give in, he would be agreeing to the fact that he was the weaker one. He would be submissive to the man in every way. But he wasn't sure how much longer that he could hold out.

"Say it!"

"I'm sorry! Okay?!" Drake took in a deep breath when he was let go, then he rolled off of the couch and clutched his lower region. "Mother fucker," he exhaled, his forehead resting against the carpet. "God damn."

Martin sat back down in his spot as if nothing had happened and he took a long swig of his beer. When it was empty, he stood and made his way into the kitchen. It wasn't long before he returned with another beverage. When he did, Drake was in the process of standing. However, before he could leave, the man stopped him.

"Sit your ass back down."

And Drake obeyed. He leaned back and placed his elbow on the arm of the couch, then he rested his head in his hand. They sat in silence like this for over an hour before Drake had dozed off.

Drake's eyes shot open and he took in a sharp breath when his arm was hit. He found himself on the couch. The young man looked over at his father, who was standing now.

"What?" he asked defensively, his voice strained. He stretched his arms and inhaled deeply. His eyes moved to the window, and he saw that it was almost nighttime.

"Fuck off. Megan's on her way."

The young man was half-asleep, and therefore, his father's words weren't clicking in his brain. "What?"

"Get the fuck outta here, I said!"

Now fully awake, Drake pushed himself to his feet. "Why?"

Martin took a threatening step closer. "Are you fucking questioning my authority?"

"No, I mean, why is she coming? It's not the weekend."

"You're kidding, right?"

Drake thought for a moment, but he still wore a clueless look on his face.

"Tomorrow's Christmas Eve," the man informed.

Jesus, Drake had slept through pretty much all of December, it felt like. He'd had no idea that it was so close. It had come so fast, and now it was about to pass just as quickly. Since he was high almost all the time, it was like he was doing a speed-run through his own life. Even though all of these holidays came and went, no day felt more special than the ones he spent with Charlie.

Martin gave Drake a look, which silently expressed the question, What the fuck are you still standing here for?

"Can I...can I borrow a jacket?"

"Yeah, sure. The green one is hanging up in my closet."

Since Martin didn't seem bothered by his question, he dared to ask another. "Can I borrow a few dollars?"

This time, Martin's face showed his irritation, but he gave in. He led the young man into his bedroom and grabbed his wallet off of his nightstand. "How many are you getting?" He knew where the money was going. "Two boxes?"

If it was anything else, he wouldn't risk losing his father's kindness, but since it was Charlie, he spoke up. "Or three."

As Martin rifled through his wallet, he glared at his son, but he handed over enough cash for the amount of boxes that Drake had requested and a little extra because his son looked like he could use a burger or maybe five. "Don't forget the jacket. It's fucking freezing outside."

Drake nodded his chin with gratitude, more so about the money rather than the jacket. "Thanks."

The young man went into his father's bathroom, then opened the closet. Inside was a stack of Christmas gifts all wrapped in shiny gold paper. These must all be for Megan. When had Martin gone out shopping? It must've been during Drake's three-day hibernation.

"Is Megan gonna be here for a couple days?" he called from the bathroom.

"No, she's just coming to open presents and have dinner tonight. You can come back around midnight." Martin checked his watch. "Have you cleaned your room?"

Drake emerged with his father's jacket in his arms. "No, I'll do that now."

When Megan comes over, Drake has to hide any evidence that he's been living here. It was much easier now that Martin had destroyed all of his belongings, but he did need to make the bed and go over everything just to be sure. He didn't want to be caught.

"Forget it. I'll do it." Martin waved his arms, guiding him out of his room and towards the back door. "She could be here any minute."

Drake stepped outside, then pulled the jacket on and wrapped it around himself closer as the cold wind hit him.

"Stay in the tree-line so they don't see you if they drive past."

Drake nodded, then slipped away into the night.

Ding!

"Ah, Drake, it's good to see you!"

"Hey, Ahmed." The young man approached the counter.

"I haven't seen you in weeks," the man said. He turned and grabbed a pack of L&M menthol 100's. "Where have you been?"

"Around. I was back in the hospital again for a little while."

"Is everything okay?" Ahmed was genuinely concerned.

"Yeah. Just a case of pneumonia, but I'm a lot better now."

"I'm glad to hear it." He accepted Drake's cash. When the register popped open, he put it inside, then started digging for the boy's change. "I just put some hot dogs on the grill if you wanna grab one." He noticed that Drake looked much more unhealthy than usual. Stunningly so, in fact.

"I appreciate it. Thanks." Drake went over to the grill and grabbed a bun.

"So tell me, how long were you in the hospital?"

"Just a few days. I've been resting up at home mostly."

It didn't look that way, for Drake had a large bruise on his temple that caused his skin to swell up around his eye. On top of that, his lips were scabbed over, and there was a rough-looking cut down the side of his chin. However, he said nothing. He never wanted to make Drake uncomfortable because he wanted the young man to know that he could always find solace here anytime he needed to get away from whatever bad home situation that he was in.

"How are you spending your Christmas?" Ahmed asked.

"I don't know. I'll probably stay at home. I don't really have anything special planned." Having finished preparing his first meal in a while, Drake bit into the hot dog, then made his way over to Ahmed again. "You?"

"I do not celebrate Christmas."

"Right. Sorry. I sound so ignorant right now."

"Don't worry. I take no offense. There are several Muslim Americans who do celebrate holidays outside of the Muslim culture. I am not one of them."

"What kind of holidays do you celebrate?"

"Perhaps one that you may have heard about is called Ramadan."

Drake shook his head. "Maybe in high school, but I didn't really listen to anything in school."

"Ramadan is when we fast for one month everyday between dawn and dusk. When the sun sets at the end of the day is when the iftars take place."

"Iftars?"

"It is the meal we eat to break our sawm during Ramadan." He saw Drake's confusion when he used another word that wasn't in the boy's dictionary. "A sawm is like saying a fast."

"Oh," Drake said. "And when is this?"

"It started at the end of May this year."

"It's different every year?"

"It's just the way the ninth month of the Islamic calendar falls on the American calendar."

Drake was just about to ask another question when he turned his head towards the window, where a car door opening caught his attention. Out stepped his mother, with Megan following close behind.

"Shit," came out of his mouth. Without thinking, he hopped over the counter and hid on his bottom beside Ahmed's legs.

Just as he did so, the bell above the door dinged. Confused, Ahmed looked down at his friend, then back up to his new customers.

"Mrs. Nichols, hello. Good to see you again."

"Hey, Ahmed. Megan, go pick out some candy to put in your father's basket." As her daughter disappeared down one of the isles, Audrey approached the counter. "I can't believe there's no one here. I expected all your pumps to be filled with people leaving for the holidays."

"I had a few rushes throughout the day, but it's been slow for about an hour now. Is Megan going to her father's?"

"Yeah, I'm about to drop her off for a couple of hours. She just wanted to stop in to get some candy. She made him a little gift basket."

"Very nice idea. Then I would suggest the peanut M&M's." Ahmed looked at Megan. "They're your father's weakness. He gets them every time he comes in."

"Thanks." She grabbed three of those, a couple slim jims, a bag of Funyuns, a bag of peanuts, and a bag of David's sunflower seeds, then she carried them over to the counter and set them down.

"Why don't you grab him a Coke?" Audrey said, pointing towards the coolers. "He likes to pour peanuts in his Coke."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that." Megan made a face to show that she didn't agree with the taste, but she grabbed the beverage anyway.

"Will this be all?"

"This is it." Audrey opened her purse and pulled out her debit card. "Do you do the chip or...?"

"We do."

Audrey stuck her card inside of the bottom of the machine. "You'd think I would remember since I stop by here every week."

"Half the stores have it. Half don't. Sometimes, I even forget if we have the chip reader."

Audrey gave him a genuine smile and chuckled, then she punched in her PIN number. Ahmed bagged the items and handed them to Megan, then he passed the receipt to the mother.

"Come back soon," he said in a friendly way.

"You know we will." Audrey pushed open the door. "Bye."

Megan waved as she followed her mother to the car. When they were gone, Ahmed looked down at Drake, who was peeking over the counter just to be sure that they were gone. As he did so, he saw that the man had a gun on one of the shelves. Ahmed saw this.

"It's for protection," he said. "Last time someone tried to rob me, I almost died."

Drake remembered the story. He stood, then went around to the customer side of the counter. "Sorry," he said.

"Why were you hiding from Mrs. Parker? She's a lovely woman."

"She's my mom," Drake admitted.

"Then why are you hiding from your mom?"

"It's..." Drake sighed. "It's kinda complicated."

Ahmed saw that the boy was getting uncomfortable. "Actually, it's none of my business. You don't have to tell me anything."

Drake felt like he owed him a better explanation, but he didn't have one.

"Now that I think about it, I can see the resemblance. I can't believe I never noticed before."

Drake's close call made him anxiously crave a cigarette. "Yeah, people say I look a lot like her. Anyway, I'm gonna head out."

"Okay. Don't wait so long to drop by again."

Drake nodded as he pushed open the door.

Drake let go of a moan, which turned into a laugh halfway through. He wore a wide grin as he fell onto his back. He rubbed his palms against his face, feeling the numbness of his skin. God, how he'd missed this. It had been about two weeks since he'd last taken his favorite pills. He couldn't believe that sleep had ever been so necessary that he chose it over Triple C's. Now that he was finally reconnected with the love of his life, he felt like his head was back on straight.

"Oh, boy..." he said as the hallucinations started up, then he laughed again.

Martin opened the front door and saw his son standing there. It was obvious that he was high out of his mind, but he said nothing about it.

"Is Megan gone?"

"Yeah. She left an hour ago."

Drake stepped inside. "I'm exhausted. I'm gonna go to sleep."

Martin watched, slightly humored by the way that Drake was walking. The boy took giant steps as if he was walking on the moon or something. He didn't know he was doing it. In fact, he was trying to not make it so obvious that he was high, but in doing so, he did the exact opposite. Walking normally on Triple C's was a lot more challenging than it seemed.

"Oh, yeah, how did it go?" Drake remembered to politely ask.

"It went great. She loved everything I got her."

"That's good." The young man plopped down onto his bed, then relaxed on the comfortable mattress.

"Drake," Martin said, shaking the boy. "Drake, get up."

The young man squinted his eyes at the light that his father had turned on. "The fuck?" he groaned.

"Get dressed. I'm dropping you off at your mother's."

This woke Drake. "Um, what?" He sat up.

"You heard me."

"I'm not going to Mom's."

"I said you're going. You're fucking going. End of discussion."

"Not end of discussion," Drake said. "What the hell brought this on?"

"Your mother was really upset yesterday when she dropped Megan off. She's never spent Christmas without you. She's always thinking about you. She's always crying over you. You're gonna spend the holidays with her." Martin grabbed his arm and pulled him out of bed.

"No, I'm not." Drake yanked himself away.

"You are the worst son ever. How can you treat your mother like this?"

Drake was hurt by his words, but he knew that Martin was only speaking the truth. But he couldn't show up to his mother's looking like he did. Wouldn't that break her heart more than him not showing up at all? At least this way, she wouldn't see just how bad off he was.

"You know what? I don't even care. I meant what I said. You're going to your mother's, and that's final."

"The hell I am."

Martin glared at him for a moment, then he stormed out of the room, slamming Drake's door behind him. Surprised that he'd actually won what was probably the first argument ever against his father, the young man sat back down with a look of pride and satisfaction. He yawned. He'd gotten in late last night, and looking at the clock, he found that it was three in the afternoon. Why was he so tired after all the sleep he'd gotten? He was pretty sure he'd slept for twelve or thirteen hours. It was probably because today was come-down day. He decided it would be best to sleep for a while, and when Martin calms down, he would ask for a few bucks and go on a Charlie run. Now wasn't the best time to ask. Drake laid back down. He was surprised by how easy it was to doze off again. However, the peace didn't last for long.

Drake jumped out of his skin when his bedroom door burst open so hard that the knob went into the pre-made hole in the wall and popped right back out again. Martin furiously shoved it back to clear the pathway towards his son, who was just beginning to make a move head-first towards the foot of his bed.

"Not so fast, you little cunt." Martin snatched him back by his ankle, only using one hand because he held a kettle in the other. Struggling to obtain the boy, he set the kettle down and grabbed hold of Drake's hair. Without thinking, he smashed the young man's face against the edge of his wooden headboard.

"Gahhh!" Drake clutched his eye, unable to fight as he was pulled closer to his father. He was half-blinded, but he saw Martin reaching down towards the floor, assumably going for the kettle, so Drake quickly tried for another escape, this time going towards the head of the bed in hopes that he could get past his dad and run out the door.

Unfortunately, Martin was too fast. He grabbed onto the boy's torso, then slammed his elbow against Drake's nose when he fought.

"Ugh!" Drake suddenly realized that this wasn't the best plan because now he was trapped in the corner. He was pinned on his stomach, for Martin had planted himself right on top of his shoulders, but with his back to Drake's head. "Get off!" The young man could feel his shirt being yanked upwards and a breeze hitting his back, and then there was only pain. "AAAHHHHHHHHHHH! GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" he screeched as Martin poured the boiling water onto the lower left corner of his back. He couldn't put into words just how much pain he was in. Excruciating, agonizing - nothing quite summed it up. "AAAAHHHHHHH!" The young man kicked his legs, his toes curled tightly. The liquid not only hit its destination, but it also streamed down his side and towards the crease in the middle of his back. "DAD, STOP IT! PLEASE!"

Martin kept going. He had the kettle filled to the brim, and he planned on using all of it - slowly, so that it would last longer. He ignored his son as the boy reached his arms back and tore at his father's jeans in an unsuccessful attempt at causing the man pain. Drake tried bending his elbow and grabbing the back of Martin's tee in his fist as he begged him to stop, his cries muffled against the mattress. The young man was pretty much powerless in this position.

"OOOOWWWW! AAAHHHH! AAAHHHHHHHHH!" Drake clawed at the headboard, and his broken fingernails actually made several marks down the wooden surface.

"You see, when you piss me off, this is exactly what it feels like on the inside!" the man yelled over Drake's screeches of pain. "You get my blood boiling, and I just wanna snap your little fucking neck!"

"I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! AAAHHHH, FUCK!"

"You need your mouth washed out, too?!"

"NO, PLEASE! STOP! I'M BEGGING YOU!" Drake could feel when Martin gradually moved a bit higher up his back, reaching unharmed places. "DON'T! DON'T! DON'T! HEEELLPPP! HEEEEELLLLPPP!"

Martin knew that when Drake got desperate enough to the point where he was screaming for help he knew would never show, it was time to reevaluate the situation. Although to Drake it had probably felt like forever that this had been going on, it had only been about twenty or thirty seconds tops. Martin had just now taken notice to the fact that the steam alone that was coming off of the water was scalding his own skin. It was a lot hotter than he'd originally thought, and maybe Drake had learned his lesson.

The man set the kettle back down, then got off of his son, but he was far from done. Just as the boy started to slide himself off of the soaked bed, Martin snatched his neck and slammed his head against the wall. Drake was in such a position that his legs were hanging off the bed, his back was against the hot mattress, and his head was against the wall. His neck was compressed, and on top of that, Martin had a tight grip on it, so Drake couldn't breathe. The boy was already in a panic since he'd spent the last half a minute or so screaming his lungs out. He had no air supply, and his back was killing him. He lifted his sensitive skin off of the mattress as an attempt to ease the searing pain, pushing his body against Martin's as the man leaned over him to clutch his throat. Drake took turns to gasp for air and let go of sobs as tears flooded his cheeks.

"Haven't we been over what happens when you disobey me before?" Martin asked calmly. "I believe we have."

Drake couldn't get any words out, so he only mouthed an I'm sorry and a couple repetitive pleads as he struggled to take in a breath while keeping his back from being irritated by the mattress.

"Are we gonna start having some problems?" It was then that he let go, for he expected an answer this time.

Drake gasped for air over and over again, and after his lungs filled back up, his rapid breaths turned into silent sobs, which violently shook his whole body. He closed his eyes and slowly slid his head sideways against the wall until it rested against the mattress. His brought his hands up to his head and placed the bottom of his palms just above his eyes. That's when he took in another deep breath and his cries became audible and loud.

"ANSWER ME, YOU FUCK!" Martin snatched his wrists and pulled them away so that he could see the hurt and the fear. That's what he got off on. That, and when his son finally gave up.

"I'll never disobey you again. I promise to God." Drake's hands trembled wildly in the man's grip as he whimpered and made eye contact. "I swear on my fucking life."

"Good, because if you ever do it again, I will fucking slit your god damn throat. You understand me?"

Again, Drake whimpered, then closed his eyes and continued to weep. "Yes, sir," his voice cracked.

Martin smirked at the sight of his brokenness. It had been so long since he'd last seen it. After Meelah's death, Drake always stayed so fucked up and depressed that he remained numb and indifferent to everything his father did to him. Sure, he would scream sometimes. But to have him sobbing his eyes out and sucking up to him - that took some creativity to get to these days. Martin almost forgot how much it got him off.

"Turn over." The man flipped Drake onto his stomach.

"Not now..." Drake whined with a high-pitched voice as Martin yanked Drake's sweatpants and boxers down his legs, revealing his bare bottom.

"Not now?" Martin removed his belt and pulled down his own pants and underwear. "NOT NOW?!"

Drake winced at the monstrous voice, which was right next to his ear. Martin then snatched him up by the hair, then tossed him so that his tummy was on the mattress again. He stepped in between the young man's legs, spreading them further apart as he did so. He spat on his hand, then lubricated himself as much as he possibly could, then he pulled Drake's cheeks apart and thrusted his already-erect penis deep inside without hesitation.

"Ahh! You're hurting me!"

"Shut up, you worthless faggot." Martin surprised his son by wrapping the belt around his neck, then putting the end through the buckle and pulling as tightly as possible.

Drake's eyes widened as he once again struggled for air. He clawed at his own throat, trying to rip the belt away. The way that his father had it, the young man could still breathe, but it wasn't very easily and it wasn't a lot of oxygen.

"Dad..." he tried, then started coughing. When Martin roughly pushed into him, he was forced forwards a bit, which therefore tightened the belt.

"I bet you're into some kinky shit like this when you fuck because you have daddy issues. You probably can't even reach an orgasm unless the girl's wearing a strap-on. Am I right? Is that how it was with Meelah? Did you take it up the ass with her?"

Drake could feel fresh tears dripping down his cheeks, but all he could do was gasp for air.

"Or that queer boyfriend of yours. Were you on your hands and knees with him behind you fucking your brains out? You probably called him daddy, didn't you? Let me hear how you did it."

Drake's lips trembled. He felt absolutely sick, and he didn't want to be here anymore. Where else could he run to, though? He had nowhere. He had no one. This is what he had to endure in order to keep Charlie, and although he despised it at the time, he always felt it was worth it each and every time that high started to hit.

"AAAHHHHHHHHHH!" Drake squeezed his eyes closed and his face contorted as a stream of boiling water glided down his back, starting from his shoulder blades.

"I WANNA FUCKING HEAR IT!"

"AAHHHHHH! AAAAHHHHHHHH!"

"TELL ME WHAT IT SOUNDED LIKE!"

Snot dripped from Drake's nose and he closed his eyes and whimpered. "Daddy..." The word disgusted him and made him cry harder when he heard it leave his lips.

"That's better." Martin gripped the belt with his less dominant hand, then spat on his right hand. After that, he placed the end of the belt tightly between his teeth so that it was still doing its job and he reached his saliva-covered hand around and grabbed hold of Drake's private member. "Keep going," Martin demanded, his voice muffled from the belt.

"Daddy..." Drake choked again.

"I need to hear more than that unless you want this water down your back again."

Drake let go of a sob. "Don't make me do this." Moments later: "GAAAAHHHHHHHH! OKAY! OKAY! OKAY!" He wept as he hopelessly spoke. "Okay. Okay." The boy sniffled. "What do you want me to say?"

"Just say to me what you say to that boy you were kissing in here last summer. Just pretend I'm him."

"I'm not gay," Drake tried.

"THEN BE CREATIVE!"

Drake's face contorted when he was tossed onto the floor like a used tissue. He immediately leaned on one side, and a puddle of vomit slipped out of his mouth. He'd tried to hold it back, and he'd managed to wait until Martin was done. It was all too much for him: the words he'd said to arouse and please his father, the fact that Martin kept holding out so that this awful nightmare was prolonged, the length of time it had taken Drake to cum. Martin wouldn't let him go until he did, though. To make Drake feel small, he'd said some inappropriate things about his sexual experiences with Audrey. This time, however, those didn't work. He'd then moved on to fantasies about fucking the corpse of Drake's dead girlfriend. This was when the waterworks had really started, but the young man's tears only turned Martin on even more. Somehow, Martin managed to ready himself for a second round before Drake had even finished the first, and then he was at it again. The power itself that he felt was orgasmic. His arm had gotten tired, so he'd forced Drake to masturbate while he thrusted into him. Again, he finished first, then tried to aid his son into climaxing while Drake begged him to stop. Finally, the boy managed to block everything out and get himself off. What should've taken three minutes somehow managed to take up the timespan of almost an hour. Was Charlie still worth this?

"Did you enjoy that just as much as I did?" He passed along an alligator grin as he buttoned his jeans.

Drake closed his eyes and turned away with shame and disgust as he sobbed.

"ANSWER ME, YOU FAGGOT!"

The boy screamed with fear when he was kicked. "Stop," he begged.

When Martin got his pants zipped and secured, he snatched his son to his feet and shoved him against the wall.

"Ah!"

"Tell me you liked it," the man demanded.

Fresh tears left the boy's eyes as his sobbing continued. "Don't." His voice shook.

"TELL ME YOU GOD DAMN LIKED IT!" Martin's palm smashed against the wall only inches from Drake's head until finally he punched it with his fist and left a large hole.

Drake flinched with each loud bang and turned his head when the man's hand went through the wall. His chin was grabbed violently, and he was forced to meet his dad's eyes. Martin's face was uncomfortably close.

"Maybe a third go will help you decide," he threatened.

"No, please," he begged, hanging his head. He only did this for a moment, for he was reminded that he was naked and that his father could easily have open season on him if he wanted. He opened his mouth, his lips and breath trembling.

Seeing that he was about to speak, Martin turned his head so that his ear was in front of the boy's lips. He waved him to go ahead. "Come on. Say it."

Warm tears rolled down the boy's cheeks as he whispered, "I liked it."

"A little louder. I couldn't hear you."

Drake swallowed, his Adam's apple visibly moving around in his throat as he did so. He cleared his throat, then swallowed again. Louder, he said, "I liked it."

"See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"No, sir."

"Now you're gonna go take a shower, and then I'm gonna drive you over to your mother's. I don't want to hear any arguing or protesting. You're just gonna do as I say. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Leave the door unlocked. I'll find you something to wear." Martin stepped out of the way.

Drake shamefully wrapped his arms around his torso, but that did nothing to hide his nude body. Humiliated, he slowly walked across his bedroom, then made a left and went into the bathroom. He turned on the water, but he didn't wait for it to heat up. He stepped inside and slid the curtain closed behind him. Once he was alone, he really broke down. The young man bent his knees, then plopped down onto his bottom and pulled them to his chest. He covered his eyes with the bottom of his palms as he continued to sob.

It wasn't long before Martin entered the bathroom and caught him. Drake didn't know he had come in until the man had snatched the shower curtain to the side. The sudden loud noise scared him.

"What the fuck are you doing?! I told you to take a shower!" Martin dragged him onto his feet. "Do you need my help or something?! Are you three years old?!"

Drake shook his head and wiped away his tears, but they were immediately replaced with more. Martin just stood there and watched for a moment, then he grabbed the old-style camera that he'd set on top of the outfit for Drake.

"This is one of my proudest days, and I want something to remember it by."

Drake knew that the man was trying to take a picture of him. He moved his hands to cover his private area, but other than that, he was was pretty much exposed.

"Move your hands," the man commanded.

"Dad-"

"Drake..." Martin said threateningly, looking up from the screen and meeting his son's eyes with a glare. And that was all he had to say.

Terrified of what his punishment would be if he didn't comply, Drake obeyed his father. The look on his face was one of pure humiliation and shame and fear. He heard a click as his picture was taken, and seconds later, a Polaroid slipped out of the front of the camera. Martin grabbed it, then shook it.

"Turn around."

Hesitantly, Drake did.

Click!

The young man hung his head.

"Finish showering. You have twenty minutes. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

Drake thought he would leave after that, but he didn't. Instead, he sat down on the toilet lid and watched his son shower, occasionally snapping revealing photos every now and then. Drake managed to stop crying halfway through. He didn't want the man to have what he wanted anymore. He knew that the pictures were just for Martin anyway. No one else would view them. No one else would see his shame.

Author's Note: I'm a few chapters ahead in my writing, but editing has become such a chore, which is why it's taken so long for me to get this chapter out. I think I'm gonna start setting things up for the end of this story because I only got twelve hits for the last chapter even though it's been up for about two weeks. I just feel like no one is really into this, and I'm not really into this because the first story was semi-relatable and this one is just not, and therefore, I can't go into much description with things like I could in the first one. Even though I'm setting things up for the end, there are still gonna be several more chapters. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with it. You're all pretty great. Oh, and let me know what you guys wanna see happen. I've taken some of your thoughts from the first story and put them in some future chapters here. Please, leave a review so I feel better about my life.